I remember going into that music shop
Going to the top floor
Taking pictures of the notation
Before leaving with no money spent
But a pocket full of score.
I told you all about it,
You said, it was illegal,
I said, I doubt it,
You said, it is. It’s not evil,
I didn’t know I broke the law
For treble clef.
It was only two months later,
That my jaw swung right to left,
My face hung up in supermarket
Walls of shame,
And I spunked more money than I would’ve
In that music shop
On scores and sheets
And dancing beats
That rode my brain.
I stopped playing keyboard.
I deleted those photos;
Removed the evidence
That splashed around
My cold toes.
Went into the leaping streets
Then into bedsheets, comatose,
Picked motive over Mozart
And baked over Bach,
Chopping powder over Chopin,
And gave in talent for a laugh.
But I wrote more poetry than I could’ve
If I hadn’t done that trade,
And now I’m sober again, after all these years,
I’ve finally returned to the stolen page.
My fingers found the keys with ease
Hovered over melodies not under nose
Reckoned I’d forget my ingrained understanding,
Of the staves, the placement, the handling
But I was just unpracticed and scared,
So it just goes to show…
(I hope not. I have no piece prepared)
By Lyric Deep.